


Gay Birds | a Maximum Ride rewrite

by maxtothemax



Category: Maximum Ride - James Patterson
Genre: Bird/Human Hybrids, Gen, Human Experimentation, Inspired by Maximum Ride, Series Rewrite, Suck It Jimmy Patts, Wings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 21:24:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15957833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxtothemax/pseuds/maxtothemax
Summary: Maximum Ride had so much potential... so I broke it down to its essentials, made some fun new characters, and started fresh. Welcome to the Gay Birds saga, a rewrite of the first three MR books. (Note: for the life of me, I could not come up with a better title for this.)Fourteen-year-old Crow was perfectly content to live in the wilderness with her flock: Robin, Lark, and Pigeon. But when the School that created them catches up to them, chasing them from their home and kidnapping Pigeon, it's up to Crow and the remainder of her flock to go back to that hellhole themselves. And after they get their little sister back, they'll figure out where to go now that they've lost their home.Features:- As the title implies, LGBTQ characters! (This includes trans/genderqueer characters.) (The gay might not come in until later, but it's been planned.)- Three-dimensional characters! And character development! Wow!- All the best angst and tropes from the original series.- Lots of new and exciting plot twists! You'll never know which parts I kept and which stuff I made up until it happens :)





	1. ...And then everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked

**Author's Note:**

> This project has been a few years coming, and I'm so excited to finally post it! I didn't try to make it extremely similar to the original, so all the characters are changed up a little bit, and the plot will have some unexpected twists. Enjoy the ride!  
> (Also: follow me on Tumblr @/maxtothemax for updates on this rewrite, as well as other Maximum Ride related shenanigans.)

On that last peaceful morning before everything went to hell, I woke up before everyone else. I already had a mug of hot cocoa in my hands as the sun rose above the treetops, painting everything in golden light. The view from the kitchen window was one of the best in the house, but it was even more stunning this time of day. It almost made me consider making a habit of waking up earlier—almost. I couldn’t quite convince myself to sacrifice sleeping in, even for the gorgeous view or precious few minutes of solitude.

I wondered if this was why Lillian used to wake up before the rest of us. She’d be sitting at the table every morning when I walked in the kitchen, with a cup of coffee and a plate of whatever she’d cooked for breakfast. If she were still here, that’s where she’d be right now—or maybe she would still be at the stove, making breakfast. She’d turn around, startled but glad to see me, and ask why I was up so early.

I’d been awake for hours already—I never could fall back asleep after a nightmare. It was happening more and more often lately, almost as often as it did when I was younger. Back then, I woke Lillian up whenever I had a particularly bad dream, and she was enough to assure me that it was just that: a dream. We were safe here, in our house in the mountains. Nothing could get to us.

It didn’t stop the nightmares completely. I still had them, and they were all a little bit different: wolves chasing me, white rooms and sharp needles, bird cages…

I tilted my head back to finish off the rest of my cocoa, and then focused on rinsing out the mug. _It’s not real,_ I told myself. _The real nightmare is far behind us._

I leaned on the counter and gazed out the window. I might’ve been a little stressed, but it was worth it to live out here. There was no one around for miles and miles. We were alone, and that kept us safe. No one to poke or prod us or try to control us. We were far, far away from the School where we grew up. That, I had to be grateful for.

Bare feet padded down the hall, and Lark appeared in the doorway, already fully dressed. “Morning, Crow,” they chirped.

“Hey.” I ruffled their short hair as they passed by, though they were getting a bit too tall for me to do that. “Is Robin up yet?”

They stood on their tiptoes to grab a bowl from the cabinet. “Pfft, no. I tried waking him up, and he just covered his ears and went back to sleep.”

I rolled my eyes. Robin had hearing loss, which meant that if he covered his ears, he effectively couldn’t hear us. It made him insufferable when I was trying to get him to do chores. “Fine, then he can miss breakfast,” I muttered. “I’m making him do the dishes.”

“All of them?” Lark asked hopefully.

“Don’t push it, or else _you’ll_ end up doing them,” I said.

Down the hall, I heard a shout of, “Robin, wake _up!”_

I smiled. “Looks like Pigeon got up.” I could always count on _her_ to be loud enough for Robin to hear.

A minute later, Pigeon skipped into the kitchen, her blond pigtails bouncing, dragging Robin behind her. He was still in his pajamas, and yawned and gave me a half-smile as the two of them passed by. His face didn’t betray much, but I could tell he was amused when she pulled out the chair beside me and made him sit down. She took the seat on the other side of me.

Lark tapped their spoon on their already-empty bowl. “Okay, now that everyone’s here—what are we doing today?”

 _Good question,_ I thought. It wasn’t like we went to school, or had any adults telling us what to do, so we figured out our daily plans on our own. Usually it fell to me to keep everyone productive—learning things, keeping the house running, that kind of stuff. And, obviously, we goofed around and had fun as much as possible. What’s the point of having no authority figures if you can’t take advantage of it?

“I wanna pick strawberries,” Pigeon said firmly, in that serious way little kids talk. “They’re ripe now.”

“Any other ideas?” I asked.

She tugged at my arm irritably, as though I hadn’t heard her the first time. “Strawberries, Crow. _Strawberries.”_

“As long as it’s not math worksheets,” Lark muttered. Robin stifled a laugh.

I rolled my eyes in annoyance. “I _did_ apologize for that,” I said, even though I still stood by my theory that Lark, as a twelve-year-old, should know basic multiplication. “Anyway, do we have any objections?” No one spoke. “Alright, strawberries it is.”

 _“Yes!”_ Pigeon finally released my arm, beaming. The strawberry patch was her favorite place. Every year she dragged us all there for strawberry picking, and none of us complained. After all, they were pretty good strawberries.

We finished up breakfast, and Robin finally got dressed, and then we headed outside. The sky was clear, and the sun warmed over the morning chill as we stepped out into the yard. Our house sat on the peak of a hill, overlooking the world around us.

Sunlight caught on black feathers as I spread my wings, stretching them out.

“Everyone ready?” I asked.

I got three nods in response, and three sets of wings unfurled. Pigeon flapped her wings impatiently, bouncing on her heels, clutching the bucket for the strawberries in her hand. “Come on, let’s go!”

I laughed, and then the four of us fanned out and started running down the hill. Momentum carried me forward, and just when it felt like I was about to stumble, my wings caught me. My feet lifted from the ground as I flapped my wings, and soon I was airborne, gliding over the foot of the hill and above the treetops.

I closed my eyes as the wind ruffled my hair. This was one of my favorite parts about living out here: flying. Wherever we wanted, whenever we wanted, never having to worry about someone seeing us. It’s just as amazing as wingless people imagine it to be. Soaring high above the world, going faster than your legs could ever take you… it was incredible. It was one thing that made me proud of what I was.

It was only a few minutes before we landed in the strawberry patch. As soon as she touched the ground, Pigeon bolted, heading for her favorite spot in the middle of the field. Lark raced after her, and Robin and I hung back, taking our time to walk over there. I sighed as I watched them go. “How do kids have so much energy?”

He shrugged. “No idea. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t like that when I was their age.”

I laughed and elbowed him. “No, you weren’t. You were born this mellow.”

He smirked. “Ha. Mellow.” He may not have had an expressive face, but he did have an impressive amount of anxiety. With his black clothes and calm façade, most people would peg him as “dark and silent.” Only the flock knew about the anxious thoughts that flitted through his head. To a stranger, though, it looked like Robin never felt anything at all.

As we neared Lark and Pigeon, I stopped, tilting my head. In the distance I heard an engine—something big, like a truck. My gut twisted. There were few roads around us, and all of them were potholed and unkempt. We rarely got cars here, let alone trucks.

Robin gave me a questioning look; the sound was too quiet for him to hear. I held up a hand, silencing Pigeon’s excited chatter. “I think there’s someone on the road,” I said, trying to keep my tone steady. “I hear something out there.”

By the look on Lark’s face, I could tell they’d heard it too. They knitted their eyebrows “But no one’s _ever_ on the road.”

“Exactly,” said Robin. He turned to me. “Should we head back?”

I paused. It could be nothing—just some stranger passing through, with no idea there was anyone else out here—but the noise of the vehicle in the distance drawing closer made me uneasy. “Maybe, yeah.”

Pigeon’s face fell. “But—”

“Just to be safe,” I said. “We can do this tomorrow, okay? I don’t want to risk someone seeing us.”

I took her hand, pulling her along to make sure she didn’t stubbornly refuse to leave. She came along, though, however grudgingly, and Lark and Robin followed us. We headed for the expanse of flat ground at the edge of the field, where we usually took off from. We were almost there when Pigeon froze, her bucket dropping to the ground. She stared at the trees beyond the field, eyes widened in terror. My stomach dropped as I followed her gaze.

Figures in black uniforms emerged from the trees, four of them, coming towards us at a steady pace. One stood out from the rest, the one in the front. I recognized him.

He was the head of security at the School—the leading role in dozens of my nightmares. And he was _here,_ walking towards me, grinning smugly at my shock.

Shock turned to panic, and that was what finally got me moving. I gripped Pigeon’s hand tight and shouted, “Run!”

I dragged Pigeon along with me as I darted between the strawberry bushes. Lark and Robin followed close behind us, both looking shaken but determined. We just had to get to the woods—that’s what I kept telling myself. If we could throw them off our trail long enough, we could get in the air. They wouldn’t shoot us out of the sky.

Rule number one of being a mutant freak: know your worth. In our case, that was about a million dollars, and years upon years of scientific research. The guards would have orders to avoid hurting us as much as possible. We were too valuable.

Pigeon lagged behind me, and I pulled her along. My legs ached from running, but I urged myself to keep going. Just another twenty feet—ten feet—

Someone grabbed my wing, yanking me backwards. Pigeon’s hand slipped out of my grasp, and she shrieked as one of the guards tore her away from me. My wings and arms were pinned behind my back. I struggled desperately, trying to get away. As I twisted my head, I saw Lark and Robin were also restrained.

My heart pounded as the reality of the situation truly hit me. This couldn’t be happening. We’d been hiding out for almost four years now—how the hell did the School find us?

My flock and I were thrown down on our knees. When I looked up, I was face-to-face with the School’s head of security, Thomas Harding.

I used to think Harding was an okay guy, back when I was a little kid. I never had to interact with him much. Not until I grew up and became _real_ trouble, and he was charged with dragging me back to the School every time I escaped. I made his job harder, and he made my life a living hell.

Though I was scared out of my wits and still trying to process what was going on, my old snarky instincts took over. I met his eyes, wiping the fear from my face, and grinned. “Miss me?”

He gave me a condescending smile. “You know, I was going to give you the opportunity to turn yourselves in peacefully, but it seems we’re beyond peace here. I should’ve expected that from you.” He wasn’t talking to any of the others. Just me.

I shrugged. “What can I say? I’ve always been a fighter.” I snuck a glance at the others. Robin’s face was blank, but his hands were pressed on top of one another to keep them from trembling—which meant he was staving off a panic attack, if he wasn’t already having one. Lark’s hands were curled into fists, and they glared at Harding, looking like they wanted to deck him. Pigeon met my eyes; she looked terrified. She was only four when we left the School—she hardly remembered her time there. Stories from Lark, Robin, and I had filled her in—and those stories were enough to scare her.

She was right to be scared; the School was an awful place. But there was no way in hell we were going back there.

Harding yanked me up by my arm, twisting it behind my back. “I’ve been waiting for this for a long time. It was nice having you gone, but it’s time you got what’s coming to you.” He twisted my arm harder. I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out. Robin bolted to his feet, giving Harding a death glare, and Harding sighed. “Don’t give me that look. You must’ve known this wasn’t going to last.”

We did. Or, at least, we suspected. How many times had Lillian drilled us on these exact situations? How many times had we gone over our emergency protocols? It wasn’t like we were normal kids. We were surrounded on all sides, but that didn’t mean we weren’t getting out.

No. We were going to make Lillian proud.

I locked eyes with Robin and gave him a sharp nod. In the next moment, all hell broke loose.

I kicked my heel into Harding’s shin, and he loosened his grip enough for me to tear myself away. One of the guards tried to grab me, but I dodged around him, breaking away from the group. Pigeon darted between two of the guards, faster than they could register it, and Lark and Robin took off in opposite directions. I went after Pigeon; I couldn’t leave her on her own.

A guard spotted her, though, and started after her. He was closer than I was. Pigeon glanced over her shoulder, spotted him, and ran faster. I did, too, hoping to throw the guard off, or distract him—but the two of them were far ahead of me.

I watched, helpless, as the guard snatched her up and carried her to the other side of the field.

She let out a shrill cry, kicking and thrashing uselessly. I ran after them, and gritted my teeth when I realized Harding was ahead of me, blocking my path.

It was surreal, the exact opposite of my nightmares—because I didn’t stop. I didn’t turn around. I ignored every one of my instincts and ran headlong into danger.

Harding looked surprised when I kept going, but he was prepared for me. He blocked my first blow, and I tried to go around him, only for him to grab my arm. I felt a surge of panic when I saw the guard carrying Pigeon into the trees. She shouted my name—and then she and the guard disappeared from sight.

I had no idea whether Lark or Robin were closer to her than I was, but I had to hope they were. There was no way I could go after her now. I twisted my arm out of Harding’s grip and slammed my elbow into his nose. He swore, stumbling back, but when he reached out to grab me, I’d already taken off into the forest.

My legs carried me forward, faster than ever, further and further away from Pigeon. I blinked tears from my eyes, trying to focus. There were rocks and tree roots everywhere, and if I tripped, I was a goner. Behind me, I heard Harding in pursuit. When I spared a glance back, he looked furious, blood dripping from his nose. He was getting closer.

My lungs burned with every breath I took. I didn’t know how much longer I could run before my legs gave out. Relief flooded through me as I burst through the trees and into a clearing. Up ahead, I saw the lake, as peaceful and picturesque as ever, just beyond the edge of the cliff.

Most people would’ve stopped when they saw they were running straight for a cliff, but I didn’t break stride. Behind me, Harding was getting closer and closer. I urged myself to go faster. His footsteps pounded the ground behind me, too close. _Just a little further…_

My feet hit the cliff’s edge. I jumped.

I went weightless for a moment as I fell. Harding shouted—and I knew it wasn’t concern about a kid jumping off a cliff, just frustration that I was going where he couldn’t follow. Then my wings unfurled, pulling me upwards before I hit the water and rocks below me. The wind rushed through my hair and dried the sweat from my face, and I allowed myself to breathe as my wings carried me across the water.

Then the reality of the situation hit me, and I covered my mouth as I choked back a sob.

The School had my little sister.


	2. Leaving the Nest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm so glad everyone liked the first chapter! That means a lot to me! And I loved the comments people left. I'm gonna be posting chapters on Mondays, but during the rest of the week I might post some Gay Birds content on my Tumblr (which has the same name as my Ao3).  
> Enjoy!

When I landed on the opposite side of the lake, I stumbled into the forest, far enough that I couldn’t see the lake anymore. I felt dizzy as I slowed to a stop, my body aching and my mind racing. Without thinking, I slammed my fist into a tree—once, twice, and I stared at the torn skin on my knuckles, watching the blood well up. Then I really started to cry.

I sank to my knees, cradling my injured hand. How could I let this _happen?_ They took her, and I didn’t do a damn thing about it. I couldn’t, because I was being chased by a fucking _kidnapper,_ but that wasn’t an excuse. I should’ve fought harder, even if it meant getting captured. The thought of going back to the School turned my stomach, but at least it would’ve been _me_ going back, and not Pigeon. She was just a little kid—and I left her there _alone._ Alone, unless Lark or Robin also got captured, which was a possibility I couldn’t bear to think about. I hoped one of them had managed to get to Pigeon and help her get away—or that Pigeon managed to escape herself.

I knew it was more likely that she was in the back of a van, scared and alone, on her way back to the School.

I used to share a dormitory with her; I wouldn’t have gotten to know her very well otherwise. The adults realized I was trouble at an early age, and they kept me away from the other kids as much as possible. They didn’t want me to “infect” them with my anarchy, so I was by myself—until Pigeon got old enough to sleep in a dorm. I was ten, and she was four. (Because how much could I corrupt a four-year-old, right?) Needless to say, I wasn’t particularly happy about it.

She looked up to me, though, no matter how mean I was to her in those early days. It didn’t take long for her to grow on me; I found I didn’t mind having a little kid around after all. So when Lillian offered to help me escape, I took Pigeon with me, even if it was a little riskier bringing a four-year-old along for the ride, as well as Robin and Lark. Because by then, we were already a flock. Flocks stick together.

I stood and wiped the tears from my eyes. I was going to fix this. One way or another, I had to get Pigeon back.

I got moving, going deeper into the trees. If Harding had found us, he knew where the house was. I couldn’t go back there. So I headed to the rendezvous point we’d all agreed on years ago: the treehouse. That was one place I was confident the School didn’t know about.

We built it our first summer here with Lillian, high up a tree in the middle of absolute nowhere. It was hard to find, if you didn’t know what to look for. After a ten-minute walk, I finally spotted the familiar tree by the stream, with the planks nailed into the side to serve as a ladder.

I climbed up the tree and held my breath as I knocked on the trapdoor above me. After a pause, the trapdoor opened, revealing Robin’s bruised and worried face. He helped haul me up into the treehouse, and I collapsed on the floor, letting the exhaustion catch up to me. “You okay?” he asked softly. He glanced down at the ladder, knitting his eyebrows. “Where’s…”

I sat up, avoiding his gaze. “They got Pigeon.”

Across the treehouse, Lark bolted to their feet, staring at me. “ _What?_ ”

“I couldn’t get to her fast enough,” I said, trying not to sound like the guilt was eating me alive. “I was gonna go after her, but then Harding was chasing me, and I couldn’t get back, and… they took her.” I swung the trap door shut and got to my feet, rummaging through the first-aid kit on the table. I needed a distraction from the way my two flock mates were staring at me.

Tension buzzed in the air, making the treehouse feel like it was about to burst. “How the hell did they find us?” Robin whispered.

Lark sat back down again, looking pale. “It’s been so long. I thought they just… forgot about us.”

I grimaced as I alcohol-swabbed my bleeding knuckles and wrapped them up. That was something I’d wanted to believe: that the School would forget us, and let us live in peace. It was a dangerous fantasy, though, the kind that lulls you into a false sense of security. The kind that gets you caught.

And, honestly, how could they forget us, after all the trouble we made? I imagined our disappearance was a relief, to some of them. But it didn’t change the fact that we were their lab rats—their expensive, _dangerous_ lab rats—and they’d never stop searching.

“It doesn’t matter how they found us,” I said. “What matters is they _took_ one of us. We’re gonna go to the School and get her back.”

Dead silence fell over the treehouse.

“Absolutely not,” said Robin.

I whipped around and stared at him. “Robin!”

His eyes locked on mine, his emotions boiling below the surface. “We _can’t_.”

“Why the fuck not?” I winced when I realized I’d sworn—not that it mattered, now that we didn’t have our little one around.

He clenched his fists. “Because if we go back there, we’ll never get out again. The whitecoats will make sure of it.”

“ _I’ll_ make sure we get out. _All_ of us.”

“I don’t want to go back.” His eyes darted away from mine, and his voice lowered. “I can’t do it again.”

Lark raised their hand. “I second that,” they said, a slight tremble to their voice. “We ran away for a reason. I’m not going back.”

I sighed. The thought of returning to the School made my stomach churn. Of course I didn’t _want_ to go back, but there wasn’t another option. “We’ll be going back on our own terms,” I said. “Isn’t that better than _them_ dragging us back there? We have to go. Pigeon needs us.”

“But how do we get to the School?” Lark asked. They drummed their fingers against their knee, anxiety kicking in. “And how do we get Pigeon out without getting caught?”

I shut the first-aid kit and reached under the table. Lillian was always prepared for the worst; we kept emergency supplies in here. Four backpacks, equipped with enough food and money to sustain us for at least a little while. I tossed them out onto the floor, and then set about transferring supplies from the fourth into the other three. “We’ll figure it out,” I said. “We always have.”

Robin gave me a look. “That’s not an answer.”

“We’re wasting time,” I said. “We can figure it out on the way.” The School was in California, in Death Valley (hello, irony, my old friend)—that was about as much as I knew about its location. We’d figure out where it was _somehow,_ though. We had time; it would take a few days to get there. We could only fly so fast, and we couldn’t do it all in one shot.

This was one of those moments when I wished we had a car, because _cars_ don’t have to stop and rest for hours after traveling. I wished I was old enough to drive, or knew how to drive. But I wasn’t, and I didn’t, so we had to work with what we had.

I slung a backpack across my shoulder, keeping it out of the way of my wings. “We can’t stay here, anyway,” I said. “They know where the house is.” I paused at the sudden realization that we could never go back. Our home, the place we’d lived for four years, the one place where we’d ever felt safe—it was _gone._

I felt sick to my stomach. Just an hour ago our past seemed lifetimes away, and now we were hurtling back towards it, on a mission I wasn’t confident we’d succeed in. The School was back in our lives—and this time, we didn’t have Lillian to help us. We were on our own.

Robin stood, looking a little pale, and grabbed one of the backpacks. “Okay,” he said, his voice soft. “Let’s go.”

There was a note of finality as we climbed out of the treehouse, and Robin closed the trapdoor for the last time. Lark stared up at it longingly. I put a hand on their shoulder, and the awfulness of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks. We built this place, all of us together, and now we had to leave it for good.

I forced myself not to look back as we left. If I did, I was sure I’d break down and start sobbing, and I couldn’t let myself do that. Robin and Lark needed me—Lark more so than Robin, but both of them looked to me to make decisions. I didn’t always know the answers any better than them, but they couldn’t _know_ that. Kids need someone to be in charge, but I had to be the exception. I stepped up when Lillian disappeared; I had to be strong enough for all of us.

We reached a clearing in the trees and took off. I clutched the backpack to my chest as I flew higher and higher. I took the lead and pointed us west; that was a start, at least.

It didn’t take long for the woods we’d lived in for four years to disappear behind us, receding until I couldn’t see our house or the lake or the strawberry patch. I swallowed a lump in my throat and willed myself to keep looking forward. I didn’t have time to mourn. Maybe later, when I was alone, when I didn’t have to focus on how to rescue the missing piece of my flock—but not now.

I had no idea how long, exactly, that meant putting it off. But I also wasn’t eager to get to it. Instead I focused on the landscape below and started planning how we would get Pigeon back.


	3. School: just as bad as you remember it

Pigeon felt a surge of fear as the van finally lurched to a stop. She’d been sitting on the floor in the back for hours, trying not to cry and almost succeeding. By now her eyes were dry, but she felt like that wouldn’t last long—it never took much to make her cry. She steeled herself, trying to be brave, as the back doors opened.

She didn’t see any other choice but to step out of the van herself. As her feet hit the ground, she felt an iron grip on her arm. Thomas Harding glared down at her. “Don’t cause any trouble, you hear me? You’re not getting out of here again.”

She bit her lip and nodded as she took everything in. The School was made up of a few different buildings, and closed off by a tall, chain-link fence. She couldn’t help thinking if she could just get away, she’d fly right over it and be gone. But she wasn’t faster than the guards, and Harding wasn’t about to let her go, anyway. She turned her attention to the brick building right in front of them: the aviary, the place where all the bird kid experiments lived. That was where she was born—where she lived for the first four years of her life.

Crow always referred to it as a prison.

Harding swiped a card to get into the building, and she got an awful, sinking feeling as he pulled her inside. The door clicked shut behind her—and then the smell hit her. That smell that Lillian had told her was called “antiseptic,” but Pigeon just thought of as _lab,_ and associated it with the vague memories her brain tried to suppress. And suddenly she was a lot closer to crying.

She stumbled along beside Harding, pressing her hand below her nose to try to block out the smell. Her hand still smelled like hand soap, and a little like sweat and dirt, but it was better than the lab smell. She tried to focus on that as they passed down the halls, which were a lot whiter and brighter than anything at home. It made her eyes hurt.

The lab smell dissipated a little when they went up a flight of stairs. Upstairs looked exactly like downstairs, except there were more people. Whitecoats. Pigeon stiffened, her wings pulling in tight to her back, as they stared at her. It served as a harsh reminder of where she was, and it made her want to cry, or throw up. Both, maybe. That would be justified.

The next person to come across them in the hallway wasn’t a whitecoat—it was an older boy, maybe older than Robin and Crow, with blond hair and yellow-and-black wings. Somehow she remembered him; maybe it was because Crow and Lark talked about him sometimes. He was called Finch, and he’d been described to her as a “killjoy” (by Lark, of course) and a rule-follower. He and Crow used to _hate_ each other. This was one of the times when Pigeon was glad the others talked about the School sometimes; she wasn’t completely unprepared

Finch stared at her, taking in her grey-and-black wings, his eyes wide. _“Pigeon?”_ he asked.

Harding glared at him. “Keep walking.”

Finch’s face flushed, and he ducked his head. “Yes sir,” he muttered, hurrying by them after a final glance at Pigeon. She kept her face blank, looking away. If her flock didn’t like him, then she didn’t, either.

Finally Harding stopped at a door, and knocked once before opening it and dragging Pigeon inside. She found herself in a sparsely-decorated office. Behind the desk sat a woman with a serious face and greying brown hair, who hardly glanced at Pigeon before addressing Harding. “So,” she said, folding her hands, “the other three got away.”

Harding released Pigeon’s arm and closed the door, looking annoyed. “Yes. They were stronger than we anticipated—we won’t underestimate them again.”

The woman tilted her head. “How were they?”

Harding rolled his eyes. “They haven’t changed much. Robin still doesn’t talk, as far as I can tell; Lark gave one of my guys a nosebleed; and Crow…” A disgusted look crossed his face. “She’s still Crow.”

“I see,” she said. “You’re dismissed. Find them and bring them back here—by any means necessary.”

He nodded, a sick sort of determination in his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.” He left quickly, shutting the door. Pigeon’s shoulders stiffened as she realized this left her alone, at the center of the woman’s attention.

The woman leaned forward and smiled at her. “Hello. Do you remember me?” Pigeon shook her head, hoping her nerves didn’t show on her face. “I’m Dr. Lee. I’m in charge of this section of the School.” Seeing Pigeon’s apprehensive look, she sighed. “Pigeon, you’re not in trouble. You haven’t done anything wrong. You were very young when you left here, so I won’t blame you for going along with the others. I don’t know what they’ve taught you to believe, but you belong here—and if you cooperate, everything can go back to normal. Okay?”

Pigeon could only stare. _Normal?_ Since when was it normal to keep kids locked in a lab? Since when was any freaking part of this _normal?_

After a silence, Dr. Lee continued. “Pigeon, do you know where your friends might be right now?”

 _They’re probably on their way over here to break me out and kick your butt,_ she thought. She fidgeted with her hands, silent.

“It’s dangerous for them to be alone out there, Pigeon,” said Dr. Lee. “They could get hurt. I just want what’s best for them. If you know anything about where they are, you should tell me.”

She sounded so _sincere,_ like she actually _cared_ about them. Pigeon knew better. If the School was really where the flock was supposed to be, they wouldn’t have left—or fought so hard to stay out of it. They wouldn’t have spent years badmouthing the School if it wasn’t a terrible place. Pigeon trusted her flock more than she trusted some doctor, and she knew she couldn’t believe anything the adults here said. They wanted her to cooperate—and she wouldn’t give them that.

She looked up, meeting Dr. Lee’s eyes, and glared. “Fuck you.”

Every pretense of friendliness disappeared as Dr. Lee stood, leaning her hands on her desk. She fixed Pigeon with a cold stare. “I’m going to give you one chance,” she said quietly, “to take that back.”

Pigeon clenched her fists, her heart racing. She simultaneously felt stubbornly rebellious and awful about what she’d said. It had been a long time since she’d been reprimanded by any adult, and she was terrified, but she wouldn’t back down. She couldn’t let these people turn her against her own flock. She couldn’t let them beat her.

“Fuck. You.”

Dr. Lee slowly circled around the desk and came to a stop in front of Pigeon. She didn’t look angry, but Pigeon wished she did. That would’ve been better than this—this pitying, predatory stare. “They’ve taught you some awful things, haven’t they?” she murmured. “But it’s not your fault. You’re young. You can get better—and you _will_.”

Pigeon yelped as Dr. Lee grabbed her by the wrist. She clamped her mouth shut, glaring up at the doctor defiantly. She wanted to say something—something sarcastic, like Crow would say—but she couldn’t come up with anything. Nothing except the usual list of bad words, anyway. And even if she had something, she wasn’t sure she’d be brave enough to say it—not with the way Dr. Lee was looking at her, like a problem in need of solving.

She knew better than to fight back as Dr. Lee led her out of the office, down the twisting, fluorescent-lit halls. The plain brightness of everything still hurt her eyes, and she dropped her gaze to the floor so she wouldn’t have to see the people who stared as Dr. Lee dragged her past. Any feeling of power she’d gotten from her outburst was gone by now. She felt bad, sick to her stomach—like she’d done something _wrong._

She was so caught up in the feeling that she didn’t notice Dr. Lee opening a door—until she pushed Pigeon inside. She gasped, finding herself in the center of a small room. It took a moment for her to recognize the place: the two cots on either wall, the narrow window, the plain white walls, cold and clinical as anything else here. A cold feeling washed over her as the door slammed shut and locked behind her, leaving her alone for the first time since she’d been taken.

She remembered now—she slept on the left side of the room, and Crow slept on the right. Some nights she’d found herself next to Crow, when her nightmares got bad or she couldn’t stop thinking about the testing. They’d spent so much time in here together, with Crow telling her stories she’d heard about the outside to cheer her up. It hurt to remember—because it reminded her that they shared a room at home, too. At home, she felt safe, like Crow could protect her from anything in the world.

She went up to the narrow window, bracing herself on the sill as she inspected it. It looked out on a wide-open yard—fenced in, of course, with evergreen trees and open sky beyond it. The window was set into the wall, no latch to open it. Sunlight glinted off the wire embedded in the glass. Crow used to look out this window all the time, her hand pressed to the glass as she gazed up at the sky. Pigeon didn’t understand it back then. But she did now. She felt the same way.

She curled up on the ground and cried, hugging her knees to her chest. As awful as it was, she wished one of the others was with her. She missed them so much already—they’d never been apart for this long before. And she missed home, too, everything about it. She couldn’t help feeling like she’d never see it again.

She wished she could go back. Go back to this morning, when everything was so much simpler, and they were all safe and _together._ It almost felt like a dream, that she was here. It could’ve been a dream, if it didn’t hurt so badly.

After a long time, her breathing evened out, and she rested her chin on her knees. _They’ll come get me,_ she thought. _They wouldn’t just leave me here._ The problem was, how long would that take? And how long could she survive this, if she was already breaking down?

She stiffened when she heard voices in the hall. She hesitated before edging closer to the door to listen. “—so it seems your little ‘experiment’ has done more harm than good,” said Dr. Lee.

Another woman’s voice replied—it sounded familiar, but the way it was muffled by the door, Pigeon couldn’t tell where she’d heard it before. “It was the best we could have done for them. Having them in this environment was unsustainable.”

“So you say,” Dr. Lee replied coldly. “But you’ve dragged it on for far longer than necessary. It’s _damaged_ them.”

“Staying here, the way they were, would have damaged them. They’re stronger now. We can work with this—we can fix it.” A cold feeling washed over Pigeon as she realized why that voice sounded so familiar. But it couldn’t be—she’d been gone for ages… “I’ll talk to her. We’ll get this sorted out.”

Pigeon didn’t hear the response; her vision and hearing grew fuzzy. She knew she must’ve been dreaming, then—she _must_ have, because none of this made any sense.

A key turned in the lock, and she scrambled back and bolted to her feet as the door opened. She felt dizzy, her heart racing—but it froze when her suspicions were confirmed.

“Pigeon,” said Lillian, smiling. “I’ve missed you so much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:)  
> My favorite part about this is that no one has any idea which parts of the plot I'm keeping. So have fun trying to figure out what's going to happen.


	4. What? I THINK sometimes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, but I've finally got a new chapter for you guys! And hopefully I'll have one next week, too, but we'll see how it goes.  
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter! :)

“Do you think Lillian’s dead?”

We sat on a cluster of rocks in some patch of woods, trying to catch our breath after hours of flying. We took a break earlier before we got through another few hours, and it felt like the attack that morning happened in another century. That was the most Lark had spoken since we left.

I stared at them, processing, and then said, “We don’t know if she’s dead.”

“I know, but do you _think_ she’s dead?”

Robin shot them a look. “Lark…”

We didn’t talk about Lillian much. I thought about her a lot, and I missed her—seeing as she was the closest thing to a mother we ever had—but I preferred not to think about what might’ve happened to her. Back when she first disappeared, Robin and I had theories, but that fizzled out when we realized she wasn’t coming back. She took a huge risk in rescuing us from the School. She would’ve had people after her, and if they caught her, and she wouldn’t say where we were… well, let’s just say I _did_ have an idea of what happened.

“It doesn’t matter what I think about it,” I said. “She’s gone.”

“Where’d this come from?” Robin asked.

They swung their legs from the rock, looking down. “I was just thinking, since we don’t have anywhere to go after we get Pigeon anyway, maybe we could… go look for her.”

Robin and I exchanged a glance. I wouldn’t know where to begin—it wasn’t like we had any clues, otherwise we would’ve gone looking for her years ago. Plus, based on my theories, I didn’t think we’d like what we found.

Before I could say anything, though, Lark continued. “I’ve been thinking about a lot of things, actually.” They glared at Robin when they saw the look he was giving them. “What? I _think_ sometimes. There’s nothing else to do when I’m flying— _anyway._ Do you ever wonder where we came from? Like, who our parents are? Did the whitecoats at the School ever say anything about it?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. They may have mentioned, at some point, that we were made from random genetic donors—effectively meaning we didn’t have parents. But if we _did_ have parents, the whitecoats wouldn’t want us to know about it, anyway. I didn’t know exactly how we were made, but we had to have mothers, right?

“They’ve gotta have records about it, though.” Lark sat up straighter, their eyes bright. “Maybe we could find out where our parents are. Maybe we could actually _find_ our parents!”

I held up my hands. “Okay, slow down. First we’d need to find that information—which might be hard, because when we get to the School, we won’t be there for long.” Lark’s face fell. “But we can try,” I added quickly.

The thought of finding our parents both excited and scared me. On the one hand, I’d always dreamed of having actual parents who loved me. On the other hand, I was a winged mutant freak, and that was a barrier to any sort of normality. That didn’t mean we couldn’t try—I just thought we were setting ourselves up for disappointment. Not that I’d tell Lark that.

“Do you know yet how we’re breaking into the School?” asked Robin.

I nodded, grateful for the distraction. Having been through most parts of the School in my attempts to escape, I was the most qualified to find a way in and out. “I’m assuming they’re keeping Pigeon in the aviary—we can land on the roof and get in through the maintenance access up there.” That was one of my better plans, back in the day—and it would’ve worked if I hadn’t been caught before I got up the stairs. “We might have to split up to look for her, but she’ll be on the second floor. We find Pigeon, grab her, and get back out on the roof so we can fly away.”

Robin nodded. “Easier said than done—but it’s a start.”

“What happens if we can’t get back to the roof, though?” Lark asked.

“We get out any way we can,” I said. “And if we get separated for any reason—either getting there or coming back—we’re meeting at the north end of Lake Mead. Okay?”

“Okay.” They tapped their sneakers against the rock. “But, like, we’re _not_ getting separated, right?”

I couldn’t promise them that—I wasn’t going to lie. “We’ll try not to. But if we do, we know how to find each other again.” As I glanced around, I noticed how dark it had gotten. “Why don’t we rest here for the night? It’s been a long day.” Lark hadn’t complained at all, but they looked exhausted. None of us were used to flying for hours on end; honestly, I wasn’t doing too well myself. “I can take the first watch.”

I situated myself on a rock, while they hopped to the ground and balled up their sweatshirt to use as a pillow. I expected Robin to do the same, but he moved over and sat facing me. “You okay?” he signed to me.

Lillian was the one who taught us sign language, starting when we were back at the School. None of the other adults approved of it, seeing as they wanted Robin to be more verbal. He liked signing, though. It was useful for him, even if everyone else only knew a few signs. Between the two of us, though, we’d developed our own language through it. Even Lillian never quite understood it, but that was the way we preferred it.

“Not really,” I replied, mouthing along with my signs. “You?”

“Nope.” His hand ghosted over a dark bruise developing on his chin, and he raised his eyebrows at me. “Are you bullshitting your confidence, or do you actually know what you’re doing?”

I almost laughed. “I do, I swear. But…” My smile faded, and I ran my thumb across the bandages on my knuckles. “We can’t plan for everything.”

“Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair. “What do you want to do after we save Pigeon? We can’t go back.”

I winced, remembering everything we left behind. We barely had anything anymore—we didn’t even have a home, and we still had people after us. I shrugged helplessly. “Keep running, I guess.”

“We could do what Lark suggested—look for our parents.”

“You think that’ll lead us anywhere?”

“It’s worth a shot. What else could we do?”

“I don’t know.” Right now we had our goal: we’d break into the School, get Pigeon, get out… and then we’d have to wing it. Keep running, keep hiding, because the School would never stop looking for us.

It churned my stomach every time I thought about it: we were officially on the run, and this time, we didn’t have any adult on our side, or any place to hide.

I have to say, I really fucking hated it.

“Get some rest,” I signed to Robin. “I’ll be okay.”

He nodded at me, his expression still doubtful. His fist bumped against mine; that was our nightly ritual. “Goodnight.”

He hopped to the ground and found a place to settle, while I stayed on my rock, vigilant. I half-expected something to break the quiet at any moment, but all I heard was wind rustling the trees, and crickets chirping. My heart still raced at every unusual sound, no matter how much I tried to reassure myself that if anyone was coming, I’d be able to hear them.

It was going to be a long night.


	5. Sometimes... the people you thought were good... are WORSE

Pigeon took a step back, staring at Lillian, trying to convince herself this wasn’t really happening. She should’ve been happy to see Lillian. This was the woman who’d cared for her and raised her: taught her to read, tie her shoes, live life outside of a lab. But this… this was _wrong._

Lillian stood in front of her, at the School, dressed in a white lab coat—like she’d never been on the flock’s side in the first place. Like she was one of _them._

Pigeon stumbled back until her wings were pressed against the wall. Lillian was still smiling at her, amused, as she came forward and knelt in front of Pigeon. “It’s been a while, kiddo,” she said, and her voice was so _warm,_ just like it was before she disappeared.

Pigeon took a few deep breaths, closing her eyes. But when she opened them, Lillian was still there, and she still felt light-headed. She wished her flock was here; at least then she wouldn’t be so _alone._

“I know this must be confusing,” Lillian continued. “It will all make sense soon. I just want to say, I’m so proud of you. You’ve been so brave through all of this.”

Pigeon’s face crumbled. She slid down the wall, hugging her knees as she started to cry.

“Oh, Pigeon…”

A hand tried to comfortingly stroke her wing, and she jerked away, lifting her head. Lillian knelt in front of her, a concerned look on her face. It made Pigeon furious, that she had the nerve to be _concerned,_ when she was the reason Pigeon was crying.

“Don’t touch me!” Pigeon hissed. “You—you abandoned us. You _betrayed_ us.”

This time, Lillian kept her hands to herself as she sighed. “I let this go too far, didn’t I?” she murmured. “Living outside of the School wasn’t supposed to be a permanent solution.”

“Solution for _what?_ ” Pigeon demanded, rubbing the tears out of her eyes.

“You’ll understand later. Here, come on, get off the floor.” She held out a hand to Pigeon, who glared at her, not moving an inch. She sighed as she picked Pigeon up off the ground.

She didn’t have the heart to struggle. Lillian set her down on her cot, and she stared at the ground, wrapping her arms around herself. Tears welled up in her eyes. “I j-just… I want my flock back,” she whispered.

Lillian sat down next to her. “You’ll have them back,” she said gently. “They’ll all be here soon.”

Pigeon’s head jerked up. “No! I don’t want them _here._ I want to—to be with them _out there_.” She looked towards the window, and her stomach dropped as she started thinking of the flock—how _they_ would react to this. She wished they didn’t ever have to know. Now that Lillian was here, she wished things could go back to the way they were, her good memories of the one adult she’d trusted frozen in time—even if that meant thinking Lillian was dead.

She never would’ve thought she’d prefer it that way.

Lillian gave her a sad look. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, that just isn’t possible right now. We need you all here, okay?”

“No,” said Pigeon, her voice still choked. “It _isn’t_ okay.”

“Do you know where they are right now?”

She set her jaw defiantly. “On their way to get me out of here.”

Lillian shook her head. “You don’t belong out there, Pigeon. None of you do. You belong _here._ ”

 _Bullshit._ That’s what Lark would’ve said, and it’s what Pigeon _wanted_ to say. If she belonged _here_ , then why did living _out there_ feel so much better? Why was she ever outside the School in the first place if she wasn’t meant to be? Lillian was right; none of it made any sense.

Pigeon wasn’t going to believe their lies. She’d be out of here in a few days, anyway, right? When the flock came to save her?

When Pigeon didn’t respond, Lillian started talking again. “I know it’s going to take a while to adjust, but you’ll get used to it again, I promise.” She paused, looking at Pigeon, but she didn’t get a response. She stood. “I’ll leave you alone now. Get some rest, okay?” She ruffled Pigeon’s hair, and Pigeon flinched away, glaring.

Lillian gave her that sad look one more time before finally leaving.

Once the door clicked shut, Pigeon got up, her legs a little shaky. She crossed the room and sat on Crow’s cot. Somehow she’d expected to feel closer to her, but evidently, Crow hadn’t left any piece of herself here—it felt empty without her.

Pigeon curled up on her side and tried not to cry.

_Please get here soon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Pigeon :( Lillian's just trying her best (and unfortunately, her best isn't good enough).  
> Quick head's up: updates might be slower than usual during November, because I'm doing NaNoWriMo for a different project of mine, and 50,000 words is pretty time-consuming. (This other project is called ASH, and it also features child lab experiments, because that's just how I roll. If you're curious, I post about it on my writeblr @/maxbeewriting.) So please be patient! Hopefully I won't have to leave you hanging for long.


	6. Fighting wolves in a 7/11 parking lot

When Robin shook me awake in the morning, it felt like I hadn’t slept at all. It was hard enough falling asleep on the ground, but the awful thoughts running circles around my head made sleep nearly impossible. I couldn’t tell how much I’d slept—and I got the feeling I didn’t want to know.

Every part of me ached, but I hauled myself up to a sitting position. “Good morning,” I muttered, even though there was nothing good about this morning.

“Morning, Crow,” Lark replied, already wide awake and sitting on top of a rock. The sky was overcast, but I could tell it was early—earlier than we would have normally gotten up. So none of us had slept well, then.

After a quick breakfast of the granola bars I found in the bottom of my bag, I stood and pulled my sweatshirt on over my wings. “I’m going to go scope out the area,” I said. “Figure out where we are. You two should stay here and rest a little bit longer.”

Lark raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” they asked around a mouthful of granola bar.

No, I _wasn’t_ sure it was a good idea, but I needed to be alone. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

Robin shot me a doubtful glance, but he didn’t try to stop me as I left. Once I was out of earshot, I thought I was going to start crying. Surprisingly, though, my eyes stayed dry. Everything still hurt—physically and emotionally—but I found myself feeling angry about it rather than sad. Yes, we lost our home, and we lost Pigeon. At least we could get _one_ of those back.

I tried to convince myself I could worry about the rest of our problems later, but it was hard not to worry about the prospect of fending for ourselves. I shook my head, rubbing a thumb across my bandaged knuckles. _Don’t think about it. Just focus on getting Pigeon back._

After a few minutes, I reached the edge of a quiet parking lot. There were a few cars parked here and there, but no people in sight. I made my way around the edge of the asphalt, hands in my pockets, trying to make sense of what happened yesterday—not that there was much to make sense of. The School found us, took Pigeon, and the rest of us had to run. End of story.

Except it wasn’t. Because we lost our home. Because we spent a long, long time convincing ourselves we were safe, even if we never truly were. And now we were back to constantly looking over our shoulders and trying to protect each other from the School, and I felt like a little kid all over again.

A heavy feeling settled in my chest as I reached the edge of the parking lot, passing through the gap between two buildings. This was my life now—again. I tried to convince myself it was different this time, but I couldn’t make myself believe it.

_Goddamn freaking School…_

A figure stepped into the mouth of the alley, blocking my path. I stopped short, my eyes widening as I recognized the boy standing in front of me. I whirled around to run, only to find _another_ boy in the way.

 _Shit._ It wasn’t Harding this time; it was just a little bit worse.

They sent the wolf kids after me.

Back at the School, we saw them every once in a while, usually for sparring—because someone decided it was a good idea to teach genetically modified children to fight each other. It was hard to forget the faces of the two jerks who repeatedly beat me up, even if they were a bit older now.

The first one—Ari; for some reason the _wolves_ got real names—grinned at me, showing teeth that were far too sharp to be human. “Well, well. Where are your little friends, Crow?”

I snorted, refusing to be intimidated—even though both of them were a lot bigger than me, and stronger than me… “What, is the School sending you dogs out to do their dirty work now?” I sneered.

The other one—his name might’ve started with a J, I couldn’t remember—smirked at me. “More like sending us out for hunting practice. Now where are they?”

I shrugged. “Snitches get stitches, Jake.”

“It’s _Jack,_ ” he snapped back, his smirk dropping.

“Close enough.” I stayed put even as the two of them moved towards me, slowly, like I’d attack at one wrong move. I rolled my eyes. “If you’re going to try to catch me, can we just get it over with already?”

Ari glared, unamused, as he swung at me.

I dodged his punch, only to gag as Jack wrapped an arm around my throat. I slammed my head back, wincing as I hit his jaw. His hold loosened and, ignoring the throbbing pain in the back of my head— _not your brightest move, Crow_ —I slipped out of his grasp. I whirled around and pushed past him, shoving him hard into the wall on my way out of the alley.

I took off at a sprint across the parking lot, aware of at least one set of footsteps following me. Shit… which way was I supposed to go? Definitely not the way I came from. I didn’t want the wolves finding Lark and Robin. Maybe we’d do better with three bird kids versus two wolf kids, but I wasn’t willing to risk losing the rest of my flock. It was better to lead the wolves as far away from them as possible.

A hand grabbed my shoulder. I lurched forward, twisting away—and gasped as claws tore through my sweatshirt and sliced across my skin. And I kept running, even as pain exploded in my shoulder and a warm wetness seeped into my sweatshirt. I gritted my teeth and kept going.

 _Just get to the woods._ That was becoming my life motto: Just get to the woods, and the bad guys might not be able to find you. The key word being _might._ But it wasn’t like I could go further into the town, and risk some concerned pedestrian seeing me bleeding and running for my life. Yeah, no thanks. The woods were a good option.

I hadn’t noticed at first, on account of being chased and all, but it had started drizzling. By the time I reached the trees, the rain had picked up. The foliage above me provided no cover as I darted across the uneven ground. Blood and rain soaked through my sweatshirt. My lungs ached, but I didn’t want to slow down, in case the wolves were getting closer. I didn’t hear any footsteps, but I didn’t want to check, either—I was afraid I’d trip if I checked behind me.

So, of course, I didn’t see the steep drop in front of me until it was too late.

My foot landed in empty air, and my legs tangled underneath me as I fell and landed on my bad shoulder. I bit back a cry of pain as I skidded down the hill, underbrush scratching at my face and arms, hitting every sharp rock along the way. I rolled to a stop at the bottom, biting my lip to keep from crying. My shoulder screamed with pain, but I didn’t make a sound. I lay there for a minute, rain and mud soaking into my clothing, utterly unwilling and unable to get up.

 _Fine,_ I thought, even though the situation was decidedly not fine. _If they find me like this, then that’s fine. At least I made an effort. Maybe at the School the doctors will stitch up my shoulder and keep me from bleeding out._

And then I internally smacked myself for even thinking something like that.

Through the rain, voices floated over from the top of the hill. I stiffened, straining to hear them.

“—the fuck did she go?” That one was Ari, I guessed.

“We’re dead,” came Jack’s voice. “Harding’s going to kill us.”

“Not if we find her. Come on, I think she went that way…”

I lay there, perfectly still, as faint footsteps passed by on the hill above me. I waited a good few minutes, making absolutely sure that they were gone. Then, slowly and painfully, I hauled myself to my feet, pressing a hand against my injured shoulder—all that blood seeping between my fingers was definitely not a good sign.

By now I couldn’t tell which way I’d come from. I didn’t want to climb back up that hill, anyway, so I picked a direction and started walking. Well, stumbling, leaning on trees for support. I was _moving,_ that’s the main point here.

It didn’t take long for houses to come into view—little suburban backyards I knew I shouldn’t be anywhere near. Yet I found myself edging closer, staring longingly at these houses and wishing I was in one of them. Warm, dry, maybe living in an alternate universe where I wasn’t some mutant freak running from other mutant freaks…

I startled as the back door to the house nearest to me opened. A girl walked out, placing a little bowl by the door, and a cat hopped down from the porch railing and wandered over to it. I knew I should hide, or at least stop standing out in the open, but I couldn’t make myself move. Not even when the girl stayed out on her covered porch, watching the rain.

Not even when her eyes wandered over to me, and I saw her mouth the words “Oh my god.”

My heart hammered in my chest as the girl grabbed an umbrella from the doorway and hurried towards me. My instincts told me to run, but my feet stayed planted in place.

Lillian always told us not to trust anyone—and I never had. No one outside the flock, anyway. I wondered what she’d want me to do in this situation: go with this human, or stay out in the rain and risk dying or getting caught.

The girl stopped a few feet away from me, mouth slightly agape as she looked me up and down. Finally she met my eyes. “Do you… do you need help?”

I didn’t need to trust her, I decided. I just had to do whatever it took to keep myself alive.

I swallowed my instincts and nodded. “Yeah,” I muttered. “I guess I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from the dead with a new chapter! Other things in my life have been winding down, so hopefully I'll have more time to write. I just hit 10,000 words on this, so yay!  
> Anyway, there were some bigger plot points in here (i.e., introducing an Ari who isn't a 7-year-old in a grown man's body), so let me know what you all think!


	7. Schools continue to make Pigeons sad

Pigeon’s first real day back at the School consisted of the thing she hated the most: testing. Lillian had tried to explain it, something about _you haven’t had a proper checkup in four years; we have to make sure you’re doing okay_ —even though Pigeon didn’t care about the reasoning, and obviously she wasn’t doing okay at all.

One step into a lab, and the smell made her head spin and her heart race. As she sat against the wall with her head between her knees, she thought of Robin—this happened to him sometimes, when he was reminded of the School. Usually he’d go sit somewhere quiet and wait for it to be over. She wished she could do that. With the doctors hovering around her, the lab was nowhere near quiet, but she knew they wouldn’t allow her to leave. Some of them tried to comfort her, unaware that there was nothing they could do to help except _leave her alone._

The testing went on as soon as she looked like she wasn’t about to throw up. She zoned out about ten minutes in, and it passed in a blur of directions she absently followed, of gloved hands and needles she barely flinched at. She wondered what the flock was doing right now. How close were they to finding her? All she could think about was how much she missed them.

She couldn’t help feeling like it was her fault they got caught. After all, she was the one who wanted to go to the strawberry patch. Maybe if she hadn’t insisted on it, they’d all still be at home right now.

She just wanted to go _home…_

When the testing ended, she was still in her head, vaguely aware of the antiseptic smell fading as someone led her out of the lab. Her hands uncurled from their tight fists, and she took a deep breath. _I’ll be fine,_ she told herself. _I can survive this._

She felt like she was lying to herself.

After letting herself be led upstairs, she found herself nudged into a room she vaguely recognized—the rec room. The place was slightly less cold and sterile-looking than the rest of the School, with a TV mounted to the wall and a worn couch positioned in front of it, as well as some other old tables and chairs scattered around the large room. She bristled when she realized she wasn’t alone: Finch was here, along with three slightly younger bird kids she didn’t remember the names of. They all turned to look at her as she came in, and immediately she wanted to leave, but the door shut behind her. Avoiding eye contact, she ignored any of the actual furniture in favor of sitting on the floor in a corner. She didn’t look up, but she heard the other kids whispering. She hugged her knees to her chest, wishing the doctors had just locked her in her room again.

Her head snapped up when she heard footsteps, and Finch stood a few feet away. “Hi,” he said. “Can I sit here?”

She averted her gaze again. “No,” she muttered. He proceeded to sit anyway, a safe two feet away from her, and she glared over at him. “What part of _no_ didn’t you get?”

He gave her a look of pity—a look she was quickly getting tired of. “I just wanted to see how you were doing, that’s all. And…” He glanced around, like he was making sure no one else was in earshot. “I kind of want to know what happened.”

For a moment she forgot to be irritated. “What do you mean?”

“It’s been _years,_ Pigeon. You and the others just disappeared one day, and everyone pretended like you never existed. Where were you all this time? And where’s Crow? And Lark and Robin?”

 _Oh._ She’d never thought about it, but it made sense that the School would handle their “disappearances” that way. After all, they wouldn’t want the other kids getting any ideas.

“We escaped,” said Pigeon.

Finch’s eyes widened. “ _What_?”

She couldn’t help smirking at his expression. “We _escaped._ And we were living in the outside world, and it was amazing. And then…” Her smirk fell. “And then they found us again and tried to catch us. They only got me. But my flock is coming to get me out. Then we’re leaving, and we’re never coming back.”

“Why not?” Finch asked.

She stared at him, dumbfounded. “What do you mean, _why not_? Why would I want to stay here?”

“It’s your home, Pigeon. You belong here—we all do.”

“It’s not!” she snapped. “I belong on the outside. Me and my flock _all_ belong out there.”

He tilted his head quizzically. “Why?”

“I…” She faltered, her face reddening. “We just _do,_ okay?”

“This place isn’t a prison, Pigeon.” He paused, thoughtful, like he was searching her expression for something. “Is that what the other kids made you believe?”

She stared at him. “What?”

“They all used to hate it here. They fought everyone on everything, they wouldn’t listen to the adults… I’m just wondering if you really feel that way, or if you just think what they told you to think.”

Her fists clenched, and she glared at him. “ _Go away,_ Finch.”

He had the nerve to look hurt. “I’m just trying to—”

“I said go away!” she snapped, louder than intended.

The three other bird kids turned to look at her. Finch held up his hands in surrender, standing up. “I’m just trying to help,” he said softly, before making his way back over to the other kids.

Pigeon felt her wings twitch uncomfortably—she hadn’t realized she had them pulled in so tight. She forced herself to relax, reminding herself not to listen to Finch or anyone else, because they were _wrong_.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want you all to know that I feel genuinely, truly bad torturing Pigeon like this and making her question everything she knows.  
> But... plot.  
> Also, now that we have an actual Finch scene, I'm curious to see what you all think of him :)


	8. Wherefore art thou, Crowmeo?

After about twenty minutes, Robin started worrying about Crow. Maybe she’d lost track of time, or maybe she got lost—but she knew better than to keep the flock waiting intentionally. It didn’t take long for Robin’s nerves to suggest that something awful might have happened.

After another five minutes, Lark said, “Hey, do you think we should…” They trailed off, gesturing vaguely in the direction Crow had gone in. They didn’t want to say “go looking for her”—that would imply that Crow was lost, and neither of them wanted to consider that possibility yet.

Robin nodded curtly, gathering up his and Crow’s backpacks and pulling a sweatshirt over his head. Lark did the same, and the two of them started off through the woods. Robin kept them going in a straight-line path, hoping Crow had done the same. He kept telling himself not to worry about her. She was smart; she could take care of herself.

But the flock _was_ being hunted, he reminded himself, and just because Crow was capable didn’t mean she couldn’t get caught.

He started walking a little bit faster.

Soon the two of them came upon a quiet back parking lot. They hung back as they saw someone get in their car, but as soon as the coast was clear, they kept going around the edge of the lot.

Until Lark stopped dead, tugging on Robin’s sleeve. “Look.” They pointed to a spot near the curb, where a few splatters of blood stained the sun-bleached pavement.

Robin stopped dead, too, and stared. _No, no, this can’t be happening…_ What were the chances that this _wasn’t_ Crow’s blood?  Slim to none, he guessed. His face betrayed nothing, but his hearing was starting to go fuzzier than usual, and he felt numb.

He didn’t realize Lark was saying his name until they tugged on his sleeve again. “Maybe we should walk around a little and try to find her,” they suggested.

He nodded and let them lead the way through a narrow alley and down a quiet street. Shops were just opening for the day, and a handful of other people milled around. No one gave Robin and Lark a second glance, which was a relief—they didn’t need any more paranoia at the moment, thank you very much.

A light drizzle started up as they wandered around, but within a few minutes it had picked up. Robin didn’t want to be in any kind of enclosed space right now, but it was either that or get soaked. He pulled Lark into the first coffee shop they came across.

The noise of the place jarred him as soon as he opened the door, but he bit down on his lip and navigated himself and Lark to a little table near the windows. He slumped down in a chair, making himself take deep breaths. Lark, sensing that Robin wanted nothing to do with speaking to anyone, dug a few crumpled dollar bills out of their backpack. “I’ll be right back,” they said. His older brother instincts wanted to remind them not to spend too much money, and get something vaguely nutritious, but he didn’t have the energy to speak.

As soon as they were gone, he dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his eyes. He wanted to go back home so badly. Back home he didn’t have to deal with so much noise or worry about keeping himself together. He couldn’t believe how well he’d held it together last night when he was talking to Crow. He’d just felt numb to it all, he supposed—it didn’t feel like it happened. But now the gravity of the situation weighed on his shoulders, and it was _exhausting._ He felt tears welling up in his eyes, and he furiously blinked them away.

He looked out of the window, trying to distract himself. It was pouring now, and the few people still outside hurried along so they wouldn’t get soaked. Robin spotted two boys across the street who were already soaked, though, and not even bothering to get themselves out of the rain. They were turned away from him, but he froze when he recognized them. He turned his face away, pretending to look at the menu board, and hoped they wouldn’t glance his way.

They didn’t. The two of them moved on quickly, backs still turned to the café, but it didn’t erase the churning feeling in Robin’s stomach.

“Hey, I’m back.” Lark plopped two cups and a paper bag down on the table, sliding into the seat across from Robin. They frowned. “Are you okay?”

“I saw Ari and Jack,” he said quietly.

They stared at him for a moment, like they’d forgotten who those two were, but their face paled when it finally registered. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. He hadn’t seen their faces, but it couldn’t be a coincidence that they were here and Crow was missing. “They went away, but if they come back this way, we should leave.”

Lark glanced around to make sure no one could hear them, and then said, “We can’t fly in the rain, though.” They paused thoughtfully. “Well, we _could,_ but it might be a pain…”

Robin pulled one of the cups toward him, if only to have something to hold onto. It was warm—tea, he guessed. “I think they might have Crow,” he muttered.

Lark bit their lip, thinking. “I mean, they might _not._ Maybe Crow didn’t come back because she was hiding from them. They might still be looking for her.”

He relaxed a little at that possibility, but he wasn’t entirely convinced. He sighed. “We’ll stick around here for a little while, but if we don’t find her, we’ll meet her at Lake Mead, like she said.” Lark nodded, accepting his authority over the situation, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this meant one more flock member they would have to break out of the School.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw you're the author and you feel bad about everything you're putting your characters through...


	9. You gotta do what you gotta do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for brief mention of past self-harm.

The girl hurried me across her yard, struggling to hold the umbrella over both of us—though I don’t know why she bothered with me, since I was already soaked to the bone. The whole way to the door, I debated running away. But before I knew it, the girl was herding me into her house, and I stood dripping rainwater onto her kitchen floor. I stepped aside so she could come in. “Mom—Mom, this girl needs help!”

The woman standing at the kitchen sink turned to look at me, her eyes widening. She quickly dried off her hands and reached for her cellphone. “I’ll call an ambulance—”

“No!” My face reddened as the two of them froze and stared at me. I lowered my voice, not looking at either of them. “Please, don’t.”

The woman scrutinized me for a long, silent minute before she finally sighed. “Stella, take her to the bathroom. I’ll go get my medical kit.”

The girl, Stella, motioned for me to follow her as her mother disappeared into another room. “My mom’s a veterinarian,” she explained. “She knows first aid.”

If I’d been in any condition to, I would’ve laughed. A veterinarian. _Hello, irony, my old friend._

I found myself sitting on the edge of a bathtub, fidgeting, when Stella’s mom came back. In my head, I was going over escape routes, reassuring myself that I _could_ escape, if I wanted to—even though I was starting to feel dizzy and everything hurt.

Stella’s mom knelt beside me, carefully pulling my sweatshirt away from the wound. “I’m going to have to cut this off, okay?” I nodded, my heart pounding. “I’m Martina, by the way. What did you say your name was, again?”

I dug my nails into my jeans to keep myself steady as a pair of scissors worked its way across my sweatshirt. “Crow,” I said. Stella, standing off to the side, gave me a confused glance.

“That’s—” Martina’s sentence cut off as she peeled away the back of my sweatshirt. “Huh. What is this…?”

I couldn’t help flinching as her hand grazed over my feathers. They had to find out eventually, I knew that, but the thought of anyone looking at my wings sent a cold jolt through my gut.

This was the price I had to pay for asking for help.

I took a deep breath, feeling faint, as I muttered, “It’s my wing.”

Stella’s eyes widened. “Wait, _what_?” She disappeared from my view, coming to stand closer to her mom. “Oh my god.”

“I think it got scratched, too,” I continued, trying to sound like my soul wasn’t detaching from my body. This was the biggest rule Lillian always told us not to break: don’t show anyone our wings.

There was a long silence, and I considered getting myself the hell out of there. But before I could move, Martina cleared her throat. “It did. Not as badly as your shoulder, though—that needs stitches.”

The rest of my sweatshirt came off, and I felt horribly exposed, sitting there in my tank top with two strangers staring at my wings. Martina’s hand brushed my upper arm, and I stiffened. _Shit._

Most of the time, I was able to block out the fact that I had an _experiment designation number_ tattooed on my arm. It served as a cruel reminder of what I was, where I came from, but I did my best to ignore it. I’d never been self-conscious about it—not until Martina touched it.

She didn’t say anything, but I _knew_ she was staring at it. The black lettering—CR3-01; my brain rattled it off without a stutter—with a thin, jagged scar bisecting it.

I gave myself that scar when I was still at the School. I was old enough that it was a deliberate decision, but too young to explain why I did it. Come to think of it, I don’t think anyone _asked_ me to explain. The whitecoats yelled at me when they found me sitting on the floor with blood dripping down my arm. I didn’t say a word. They wouldn’t have listened, anyway.

There was another long pause, and then Martina started rummaging through her first-aid kit. “You’re going to be fine, sweetie,” she said softly. “I just need to clean that wound up and give you some stitches, okay?”

“Okay,” I said. My voice sounded distant to my ears.

I wasn’t used to trusting what adults said, but somehow I believed this one. A little bit, anyway.

 

I zoned out around when the stitches started, after she gave me some semi-functional painkillers, so I didn’t know how long it was before Martina finished and bandaged up my wounds. Stella loaned me some dry clothes, and the two of them left me alone to get myself dried off and changed.

Rain streaked down the windowpane, creating a distorted image of the outside. I stared out the window and considered leaving. I could go find Robin and Lark. They were probably waiting somewhere nearby, and they had to be worried. I should get back to them…

I winced as I maneuvered Stella’s hoodie over my injured shoulder. It throbbed and burned even after I lowered my arm. _Shit._ I couldn’t leave. Ari and Jack might still be out there, and I wouldn’t stand a chance against them like this.

But if Ari and Jack were still out there, Lark and Robin might be in trouble, too.

I reached for the latch on the window—and nearly jumped out of my skin when someone knocked on the door. “Crow?” It was Martina. “You okay in there?”

“Yeah,” I called, stepping away from the window. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

 _Quit being an idiot, Crow,_ I thought. _Robin and Lark can take care of themselves._

I hoped, anyway.

Tentatively, I made my way into the living room, fidgeting with the peeling edge of the bandage still wrapping my knuckles. Martina and Stella both looked up when I came in—Martina looked relieved, like she’d expected me to run off the first chance I got. She looked like she wanted to say something, but was cut off when Stella’s phone buzzed.

Stella glanced at the screen, and then smacked her forehead. “I forgot I have theater rehearsal today! Emma’s here to pick me up…” She pushed off from where she’d been leaning on the wall, but hesitated in leaving the room.

Martina eyed her, like she knew what she was thinking. “Stella, just go to rehearsal. You already missed one last week.”

“But…” Stella looked over at me, and I avoided her gaze, pulling at my bandage.

Martina gave her a stern look. “Stella. We can discuss all of this later. Go to rehearsal.”

Stella’s eyes darted between me and her mother before she finally gave in. “Alright. Bye, Mom. Bye… Crow.” She left reluctantly—I got the feeling she thought I’d disappear, too.

I didn’t blame either of them for their reaction towards me. If I didn’t know winged kids existed, I’d be in awe, too. Still, it was uncomfortable. In some ways, this was as surreal to me as it was to them. I kept thinking about how I was supposed to explain this to my flock. They would understand, wouldn’t they? That I didn’t have a choice?

Martina cleared her throat, turning my attention back to her. “You can come sit down, if you’d like,” she said.

I picked a chair a comfortable distance from her and perched on the edge of it, convincing myself not to bolt. The overwhelming instinct to get out of here still nagged at me, especially now that I was alone with Martina. She seemed nice, but I couldn’t trust that. I couldn’t trust people, period.

“Crow…” Martina sighed, like she was struggling for words. “Is there… is there anything else I can do? Anyone I could call for you?”

“No,” I said, fiddling with a stray thread on my sweatshirt. “I don’t have anyone to call.” I didn’t know how to explain to her—or whether I _should_ explain to her—how me and the flock had been alone for the past two years, surviving on our ever-dwindling supply of money and non-perishable food, and making sure that no adults became suspicious of us. How we didn’t have anyone taking care of us, and we didn’t _need_ anyone taking care of us.

Except, evidently, when some jerk clawed my shoulder open.

“How did this happen?” Martina asked. I bit my lip and stared at the ground. Her voice remained gentle, but I sensed an edge of frustration in it that picked up my heart rate. It wasn’t like I thought Martina would hurt me, but angry adults tended to make me nervous. “I know the last thing you want is to answer any questions,” she continued, “but your injury couldn’t have been an accident. I’m worried about you.”

My hands curled into fists—the way she said that last part reminded me of Lillian. “You just met me,” I muttered.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to help you,” she said.

My chest constricted. I stood abruptly, clenching my fists, not quite looking her in the eye. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I should go.” Her concerned gaze made my skin crawl. Even if her intentions were pure, even if she _did_ just want to help me, every second I spent here was a risk. What if someone from the School found me here? What if Martina called the police, in an attempt to “help” me? What if Lark and Robin got captured while I was gone? My flock needed me.

And, fuck, I needed _them._

“Crow, wait.” I ignored Martina, striding towards the foyer. I reached the front door, raising my hand to grab the handle—and sucked in a breath as pain flared in my shoulder. Heat rose to my face as my hand dropped, but I stayed facing the door.

Martina’s footsteps sounded behind me, stopping a few feet away. “You’re not in any condition to go out there. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself even more.” When I didn’t respond, she took a deep breath and said, “You don’t have to tell me anything. You don’t have to answer any questions. But please don’t strain yourself by going out there before you’re ready.”

I paused. Before I could convince myself to do anything else, I swallowed my pride and turned to face her. “Okay,” I murmured. I really didn’t want to delay the rescue mission, but I was useless in this condition.

_Sorry, Pigeon. Just a few more days._

I hoped she was handling it okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I compensate for long hiatuses with long chapters :)


	10. Finch hates art

Despite Pigeon’s protests, the whitecoats started integrating her into the daily schedule the other kids followed. Obviously everyone was hoping it would help Pigeon settle in, make friends with the other kids—and they were deeply disappointed when Pigeon dug in her heels every step of the way.

Against her will, she started learning about the “School flock,” as she called it, even though it was very different from her flock. Finch was the leader, probably by virtue of being the oldest: he commanded the three others. The one who was Pigeon’s age, Duck—she was either painfully shy, or found Pigeon intimidating; she didn’t talk much. The other two, Dove and Hawk, both seemed suspicious of Pigeon, despite Finch telling them to be nice to her. Hawk gave off an air of “I’m better than everyone else,” even if she attempted to be polite. Dove acted like he wanted to be Finch 2.0, what with the way he followed the older boy around and did whatever he said.

And another thing—all of them were _good._ They all followed the Rules, which was spelled with a capital R in Pigeon’s head for how much emphasis everyone put on them. No one had explained to Pigeon what all the Rules were, but she sure seemed to break a lot of them. So far she’d inferred that they entailed things like doing what the whitecoats said and being respectful to adults, both of which she sucked at.

At “free time”— the mandated hour in which the kids were forced to hang out in the rec room—she found herself sitting in the corner again. She pulled out the pencil she’d snagged at lesson time and started idly doodling on the walls, things like clouds and strawberries and birds.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Dove approaching. She continued doodling. “Hey, Pigeon, do you want to—” He stopped short and stared. She glanced up at him for a moment before going back to shading in a drawing of a robin. Dove looked horrified. “You can’t do that!”

“Bite me,” said Pigeon.

There was a silence, in which Pigeon assumed Dove was trying to process that retort, before he finally snapped out of it. “Finch!” he called, in the shrill voice of a practiced snitch. “Pigeon’s breaking the Rules!”

She rolled her eyes as footsteps approached—and only looked up when Finch snatched the pencil out of her hand, marring her drawing of the robin. “Hey!” she protested.

She tried to grab it back, but Finch handed it off to Dove, who dutifully went to put it away on a high shelf. Finch crouched down to her eye level, and she glared at him. “Pidge,” he said, like he had _any_ right to call her that. “Can I talk to you for a second? Out in the hall?”

“No,” she snapped.

He stood and grabbed her by the wrist, hauling her to her feet. She dug her nails into his hand and her heels into the ground, but he didn’t let go. The other three kids stared as he dragged her through the door and shut it behind them.

As soon as he let go, Pigeon yanked her hand away, stumbling back until she hit the wall. “What do you want?” she hissed.

He knelt down and looked her in the eyes, his expression serious and his voice low. “You’re acting like this because you think you’re getting out of here, aren’t you? You think your friends are coming for you.”

She clenched her fists and pressed further against the wall. “They _are._ ”

He sighed, shaking his head, looking at her with pity. “Pigeon, they’re not.” She opened her mouth to retort, but he cut her off. “They’re not,” he repeated. “Dr. O’Neill told me herself.”

 _Lillian told him…?_ Pigeon shook her head. “You’re lying.”

He put a hand on her shoulder, but she didn’t have room to flinch away. “I didn’t want to be the one to tell you this, Pigeon, but they’re not coming for you—and the sooner you accept that, the happier you’ll be.”

“You’re lying,” she said, although there was a growing unease in her stomach. “They wouldn’t just leave me here.”

“Maybe they wouldn’t, but they’re going to get caught,” he replied, still in that same gentle, pitying tone. “And when they do, I don’t think they’ll get sent here. Pigeon, you need to let them go.”

“You’re _lying_.” She tried to blink away the tears blurring her vision, but they kept falling. She couldn’t make them stop, even though she knew she couldn’t believe anything Finch told her, even though Crow and Robin and Lark were the strongest people she knew and they wouldn’t let themselves get caught—she couldn’t stop crying.

Even then, Finch kept talking, his hand still on her shoulder. “They’ve been manipulating you for a long time—they’re bad kids. I can’t blame you for believing them, but you need to forget about them. You still have a place here—”

Pigeon hugged her arms around herself, eyes squeezed closed. “Shut up! Just _shut up!_ ”

He couldn’t be telling the truth—he just couldn’t be. Her flock was _good._ Sure, they didn’t follow the Rules very well… but Crow always held her when she had nightmares. Robin patiently taught her how to tie her shoes and multiply numbers. Lark played games with her and laughed at her dumb jokes. Her flock raised her. They were her _family_. They couldn’t be bad… could they?

Finch frowned. “Pigeon, that was very rude.”

She glared at him, furiously blinking tears from her eyes. “I don’t care! Just—just leave me alone!”

“Pigeon…”

“What did I _just_ say?”

He sighed. “Why don’t you go back in there and wipe those drawings off the wall? If you do that, _maybe_ I can trust you enough to leave you alone.”

She sniffled, arms crossed. After a minute of silence, of Finch looking at her expectantly, she caved. “ _Fine._ Whatever.”

Finch smiled triumphantly as he led her back into the rec room. She clenched her fists. _You haven’t won, you obnoxious jerk._

He had no idea that Pigeon’s stubborn rebellion was just beginning.


	11. Robin and Lark fight wolves behind the 7/11

It rained all day, which wasn’t very conducive to looking for Crow. Her absence made Robin uneasy; she was a constant force in his life, not to mention the one who usually called the shots. Having to make all the decisions for this flock of two made him appreciate why _she_ was the leader. He tried not to think about what would happen if they didn’t find her.

The rain let up by nightfall, so he and Lark camped out underneath the awning of an abandoned building and got moving early in the morning. Everything was still damp and rainy-smelling, but at least it wasn’t pouring on them.

As Robin started to feel more and more like death, Lark remained their typical chipper self. “So, what’s the plan?” they asked.

He had to focus more to understand them; the stress and the tiredness really didn’t mix well with his hearing loss. “We’ll search around here a little more, but if we don’t find Crow in an hour or two, we’re heading to Lake Mead.”

They nodded. “Alright.” They paused, and then said, “So, remember when I was talking about finding our parents?”

“We have a lot of other stuff to focus on right now.”

They waved him off impatiently. “I know, I know, but listen—I think we could do it, if we can just figure out where they keep the files. They’ve got to have _some_ information, right?”

“Yeah, but—” Robin sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Can we talk about this after we find Crow?”

Lark groaned, bouncing up and down as they walked. “But I have _theories!_ I was thinking about it all night—and all day yesterday!”

He raised his eyebrows. “Did you actually get any sleep?”

They rolled their eyes. “Yes, I did. Come on, just _listen—_ ” They stopped short as they rounded a corner and bumped into someone. “Heck, sorry—” They looked up, their eyes widening. “Aw, hell.”

They’d bumped right into Ari.

Robin paled as Ari grabbed Lark by the arm. “Well,” he said, grinning over his shoulder to Jack. “That was easier than I expected.”

“I—I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Robin tried to sound neutral but knew he was failing miserably.

“And why’s that?” Ari asked smugly.

Robin gestured to the busy street around them—there was already an adult eyeing them from a café across the street. “Witnesses. I’m sure Harding wouldn’t want the police getting involved.”

Ari exchanged a glance with Jack, and Lark took the opportunity to yank their arm out of Ari’s grip. They stumbled back, sticking close to Robin. “If we don’t run, can they actually catch us?” they whispered to him. He shrugged. The wolves _were_ just two teenage boys, after all. Genetically modified, but still—two boys trying to beat up two much smaller kids would attract the wrong kind of attention. Robin wasn’t convinced that the wolves cared about that, though.

Jack stepped forward. “Listen, we already have Crow.” Something like confusion flickered across Ari’s face before his expression smoothed out. Robin’s eyes narrowed. “You’re making this harder than it has to be,” Jack continued. “Don’t make us hurt you.”

Lark snorted. “Like you _could,_ loser.”

They dodged out of the way as Jack swiped at them. “Not that I would have a problem with hurting you,” he growled.

“I’m so scared,” Lark deadpanned, rolling their eyes. Robin shot them a look and signed at them to _stop_. Either they didn’t see him sign, or they ignored him. Guess which one. “If you want to catch us, make an effort.”

Jack went to grab them, and only _then_ did they decide it was time to run.

Robin kept pace with them as they sprinted down the sidewalk, back the way they came. “What was that?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry!” they said. “I couldn’t help it—insulting them was so easy!” Robin rolled his eyes and kept going. He could give them the whole “don’t provoke dangerous predators” lecture later.

They cut between two buildings and ended up in a quiet parking lot. Robin slowed. “We’ll have to fly—but how do we do that without anyone seeing?”

“Screw not being seen?” Lark suggested.

Robin sighed. “You’re _full_ of bad ideas today.” He glanced behind them and saw the wolves coming through the alley. He started running again, heading for the emptier part of the lot. They might just have to suck it up and use Lark’s plan. A handful of people were watching from the more crowded side of the lot, wondering whether to intervene. Internally, Robin sighed. At least no one would ever believe them.

“Fine,” he called over to Lark. “We’re using your idea.” Lark grinned. They both slowed to wrestle off their sweatshirts and unfurl their wings. Robin heard a few gasps behind them and internally flinched. This was a survival decision, he knew—but he still hated the idea of letting any normal human see his wings. The fact that it was against flock rules, too, just made his anxiety worse. But what else were they supposed to do?

The wolves were catching up as he and Lark started running again. Ari was closest to Robin as he took off, gaining altitude as quickly as he could. Ari’s claws glanced off the side of Robin’s sneaker, unable to get a good grip, and Robin heard the frustrated growl as he rose above treetops. When he looked back, Lark was right behind him, sticking out their tongue at Jack. Robin’s heartbeat slowed as Lark caught up to him and they flew higher, until the two of them were just dark specks in the sky.

They flew in silence for a while. When Robin was sure they were far enough away from the wolves, he caught Lark’s attention and nodded to a forest clearing below them.

When they’d landed, Lark immediately started pacing, running a hand through their windblown hair. “So, what do we do now? They have Crow.”

Robin perched himself on a rock, wings still partially extended. “They don’t. They were lying.”

Lark spun on their heel, raising an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

He shrugged. “Ari looked confused when Jack mentioned it. Also, I doubt those oversized dogs could catch Crow on their own. She’s faster than them.”

“So where do you think she is?”

“No idea.” That was the part that worried him. She was fast enough to get away from the wolves, sure, but they still could’ve hurt her. “We should head to Lake Mead, though,” Robin continued, pushing aside his fears. “She’ll meet us there, like she said she would.”

Lark nodded, tentatively accepting his authority on the subject. For Lark’s sake, and for the sake of the rescue mission, Robin hoped he was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> proofreading? editing? sorry, i don't know her.  
> and in case you were wondering: no, lark does not have any sense of self preservation  
> also: if you haven't been on my tumblr @ maxtothemax, i posted some gay birds drabbles! i'm 90% sure they're under the tag "gb drabble" but i think if you just search drabble they'll probably come up


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